


pure luck

by markhyuck



Category: Pentagon (Korean Band)
Genre: Gangs, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, he's a good smol bean, hongseok is a good rich bean, jinho is a bit of an asshole here but only because he's a shy awkward turtle, mentions of violence but not explicit, shinwon is a mean green bean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9691481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markhyuck/pseuds/markhyuck
Summary: Jinho is your average final year university student, surviving on solely on coffee, energy drinks and a determination to graduate. However, when he saves Hongseok, multimillionaire and CEO of HS Films, from imminent death, an unlikely friendship blooms, and Jinho's world is turned upside down.The one good thing that comes of it is that Jinho gets to be chauffeured around in Hongseok's 1.5 million dollar Bulgatti Veyron wherever he goes.





	1. alley

**Author's Note:**

> characters are slightly aged up for the sake of this fic. enjoy!

**** It’s a dreary sort of day; there’s a sticky feel to it, as if someone cranked the humidity up over the course of the afternoon and left everyone to stew in the heat. To make matters worse, the sky is overcast, shadowing the already drab streets and adding gloom to the fading daylight.

Jinho likes these kinds of days.

He’s hurrying home from the sleepy café halfway across town, bag underneath his arm as he struggles to shove all his notes in and fix the plastic clasp in place. His coffee, now cold, is in his other hand, sloshing around in the cup—dregs, mostly, but Jinho holds on to it like a lifeline.

The clasp clicks into place, Jinho lets out a triumphant noise (something like an appreciative grunt, only in a much, much higher pitch), and he accidentally lets go of his coffee cup, which somehow flies three metres away and spills all over the sides of the nearest building and trickles across the pavement.

He lowers his arms from his victory dance and looks around. The road is, thankfully, devoid of all human life, but he swears he hears the nearby mynah cackle at him. He glares at it, and it tilts its head malevolently towards the coffee.

He sighs, dumps his bookbag on the floor and tries to mop up the distasteful poo-coloured mess with the last of his tissue packs, the conscientious model citizen he is. That’s when he hears it.

_ Thump _ .

He looks around, brows furrowed, trying to pick up on the source of the noise. Whatever it is doesn’t sound good.

_ Thump. _

The telltale baritone of a man accompanies the thud, and Jinho hears the rough cadences of the rural dialect. Back of his neck prickling, he inches forward, peering around the large trash collection bin that blots his view of half the alleyway, and immediately wishes he didn’t.

He can only see the foot of a man, but the way it’s angled tells him that the man is sprawled out, and more importantly, there’s the metallic tang of blood in the air. The thumping is more distinct now, and it’s obvious that whoever is around the corner is still going at the almost unconscious man, if the weak, pained moans are anything to go by.

Jinho stuffs his fist into his mouth to stifle a horrified yell and makes to creep away, his sense of self-preservation kicking in, but then he spots a bloodied brick just in front of him and goes rigid, paralysed in fear and shock. The adrenaline coursing through him doesn’t help, just keeps him rooted to the spot, and in the seconds that drag by like hours he faintly registers that the scuffling of footsteps means that there is more than one assailant hidden in the depths of the alley.

He can’t move, can’t run, but the pull of curiosity causes him to inch forward and take a peek. His mind screams with alarm, but he has to know,  _ has to do something _ …

It’s a strange scene, a man in a suit lying helplessly on the floor in a bloodied state as the two men continue kicking at him, seemingly conversing in low tones about what to do with him. They don’t seem to carry weapons, as far as Jinho can see, except for the gun sticking out of the back pocket of the assailant nearest to him.

Without thinking, Jinho takes the brick is in his hands, automatically sizing the assailants up; _ thank God there are only two of them _ . He doesn’t know what he’s doing, the panic is blinding—the man on the floor spots him in his semi-unconscious state, and opens his mouth to mouth  _ help _ , but Jinho fiercely gestures for silence.

He doesn’t stop to take a deep breath, he has no time to think; he swings his arm backwards and barely has time to think  _ may the odds be ever in my favour _ , before he pitches the brick towards the thug back-facing him, the one who looks bigger and a lot more aggressive as he lifts his foot to kick at the man on the floor.

The brick strikes the back of his head, exactly where Jinho was aiming— _ thank luck _ , he hasn’t played ball in years, and the brick was a new weight to estimate—and the assailant crumples to the ground.

The other man barely has time ready his knife before Jinho is onto him, pulling the gun out of the unconscious thug’s back pocket and pointing it at him.

Jinho’s heart is in his mouth as he says, quietly so as not to let the overwhelming fear creep into his voice, “Drop your weapon and go.”

The thug hesitates, but eyes the barrel of the gun warily and drops his weapon. He makes to tug the unconscious assailant out along with him, but Jinho sharply tells him to leave, and he leaves without a backwards glance.

This is one of those times Jinho regrets not taking up a major in medicine when he’d had the grades for it, and as he drops to his knees beside the semi-conscious man, fingers fumbling to stem the flow of blood from a wound in his side with his shirt, he experiences another wave of panic, less to do with fear than with a growing sense of helplessness. With shaky hands, he dials emergency, and spends the next few minutes mumbling reassurances to the man on the floor, all the while keeping an eye on the unconscious thug on the floor and a hand on the gun.

 

Jinho feels like a war hero when the vehicles arrive—an ambulance comes blaring through despite the nearly non-existent traffic, followed closely by a police car, and Jinho tries to ignore the blood all over his hands as they take his statement and load the man onto the stretcher.

When they wheel the stretcher past Jinho, the man makes an effort to grab at him, and when they stop, he mumbles a thank you with difficulty through a mouthful of blood.

“You’re welcome,” Jinho smiles, tries to hide the fact that he wants nothing to do with the man. Nothing to do with today’s incident, hopes the media won’t get wind of this incident.

The man smiles (it comes out as more of a grimace), and offers a weak handshake. “Yang Hongseok.”

“Jo Jinho.”

He feels a little silly with this formal gesture after such a whirlwind of events, but Hongseok says, “I’ll see you again” with a wink, and a bewildered Jinho replies with “don’t worry, I’ll testify for you in court”, and watches as they whisk both him and the thug into the ambulance.


	2. the beginning

No such luck. It hasn’t even been one day, and the press are already onto him.

 

Jinho hurries along the hallway, heart thumping wildly in his chest. He’s never been late to class before, let alone a lecture. Not even when there was a massive jam along the highway the day he’d woken up late and hopped into a cab.

He nears the double doors of the lecture theatre, filled with dread as he slowly swings the door open—the door creaks loudly, and he winces as he steps in. The lecturer barely spares him a glance, far past caring about latecomers, and Jinho hurries to the nearest seat and shrinks into himself as much as possible to avoid the stares. He never did like calling attention to himself.

_Too bad everything seems to be going wrong for me today._

It is only a couple of seconds later that the lecturer stops in the middle of a sentence, staring at Jinho as if just registering his presence. “Jo Jinho.”

“Yes?”

“Good job, you’re still alive.”

He resumes his teaching, and behind Jinho a couple of girls laugh, leaving him stumped. He spends the rest of the lecture in confusion, not really paying attention as he struggles to recover from sleep deprivation and a feeling of slight disorientation, a little wrong-footed. They couldn’t have found out already, could they?

It’s only after the lecture, when Wheein and Hyejin catch up to him, all grinning and being faux jealous of him being in the newspapers, that reality catches up to Jinho. Wooseok, who is walking beside him, gets an earful of _“they already found me and even cornered me outside school, how? Oh my god, is this how celebrities feel? I hate it, I’m never going to have another peaceful moment in my life again”_ until he gets tired and slaps a hand over Jinho’s mouth, dragging him to the cafeteria while the elder mumbles resentfully under his breath.

 

Wooseok’s already done with three plates of mashed potatoes and (cardboard-tasting) grilled chicken by the time he sits back with a contented sigh, crossing his arms.”So, paparazzi?”

“They’re the reason why I was late,” Jinho replies, picking at his peas mournfully. “They kept asking questions.”

“What did you tell them?”

Jinho mimics a strong, posh accent, the one the reporters use on the 9 o’clock news use and says, “Eyewitness Jo Jinho declined to comment.”

Wooseok laughs and nudges him. “Now you’re going too far.”

“I’m famous, i can do whatever I want.”

“Asshole.”

The conversation comes to a lull then, unusual for someone as talkative as Wooseok, until Jinho follows his gaze and realises that he’s staring at the new Japanese transfer (again), who’s just entered the cafeteria and is looking around, a little lost.

Jinho’s a little shy, a little socially awkward, a little quiet, but now he laughs at Wooseok, goes, “Yuto? Really?” and stands up to holler for him across the cafeteria.

Jinho sees at once why Wooseok is so endeared to Yuto, his brooding aura, his alert but casual posture, the way his eyebrows turn downwards fiercely in sharp contrast against his uncertain doe-eyed expression making him strikingly handsome.

Wooseok shoots him a funny expression, half a frown and yet a telltale quirk to his lips betraying him, but Jinho mouths, “You’ll thank me later,” and turns to introduce Yuto to Wooseok as the transfer makes his way over.

Yuto’s shy as he sits with them, and Wooseok offers to get his food with him. The Japanese seems more oblivious than a horse with blinkers on, and quickly agrees, grateful for the help on his second, friendless day at the university. (Jinho had briefly met him in the men’s, when Yuto needed toilet paper and had come out of the stall after, bright red and stammering.)

He watches them go, giving himself a mental pat on the back as he watches Wooseok talk a mile a minute, and then flame red at Yuto’s comment. Shaking his head, he slumps back into his seat and pulls the search bar up on his phone.

True enough, there’s more than a couple of articles that appear, all that bear details of the incident that Jinho hadn’t thought they’d be able to find out, and… his name, age _and_ university.

Jinho supposes he really should delete his old (and inactive Facebook account) and private his Twitter and Instagram profiles or something.

His eyes trail to the large picture banner over one of the articles—and does a double take, because never in his life has he ever expected the bloodied and bruised man from yesterday to be so damn _handsome_.

It’s Hongseok in a suit, and Jinho recognises the backdrop to be HS Films. Not the biggest, but one of the most well-known entertainment companies in the film industry for their novel ideas and outrageous, bold storylines.

Jinho’s jaw drops again when he reads the caption. _Yang Hongseok, CEO of HS Films, was badly injured in the accident but saved by a passer-by. He is currently in critical condition in KGH ER._

Now Jinho truly feels like he can relate to the leads in Korean dramas.

 

* * *

 

A month passes, and Jinho is thoroughly sick of pesky reporters firing questions at him on the way to school (by now, they’ve tailed him all the way to his house). He’s changed his email address, too.

The newspapers carry on reporting about the incident. Left with no concrete facts, they begin speculating on the reasons why Hongseok was attacked. Gossip tabloids report on alleged links with illegal dealings, some with terrorist alerts, others with far more ridiculous claims (his hidden wife hired thugs to deal with him because he was seeing another girl. Jinho thanks his socks he isn’t rich and the CEO of a renown company).

The thug reportedly lost his memory from the hit to the head—thank God they haven’t found out exactly _why_ the thug was hit in the head, but Jinho supposes it’s obvious that he’s the culprit behind it.

 

* * *

 

Two months later, things are back to normal.

The articles have moved from the second and main pages to tiny, single-paragraph updates in the last pages of the newspapers. Eventually, Jinho gathers from here and there that Hongseok has finally been discharged, alive and kicking.

He doesn’t exactly know why he’s keeping track of the man in the suit. Maybe there really is something about surviving an ordeal together that bonds people together.

Jinho hopes to high heaven that Hongseok _does_ learn to kick some ass.

 

It’s a Monday morning when Jinho stumbles out of bed, bleary-eyed and yawning, heading into the kitchen where his sister is, propped up on the counter sipping on some coffee.

Caffeine addiction runs in the family.

“Bread in the fridge,” she says dismissively, without sparing him a glance. “I woke up too late to make pancakes, but if you want I’ll make them tomorrow.”

“Please,” he grins, and she looks like she’s about to murder him. Jinho pours himself a glass of milk, and is halfway through creating his daily milk moustache when the doorbell rings.

Nobody ever visits, and if it’s a telemarketer, Jinho _will_ burn his house down. Slightly put-off, he pads over to open the door, glass in his hands.

“Nice to finally see you again,” a deep voice says, and Jinho realises he is staring straight at a man’s very toned chest. _Oh, hello, gorgeous. Muscles like that are definitely not standard fare._

Realising he’s staring, he quickly looks up, flustered, and freezes.

“Jinho, right?” The man chuckles, and Jinho realises what a wreck he looks in his pyjamas, bed hair, and… _darn milk moustache._

“Hongseok,” he replies, lamely, and the younger grins. “I’m here to offer you a ride to school.”

Jinho starts and peers around him. Hongseok’s car gleams silver in the light, and another tall man in a suit is leaning against it casually, glancing over every now and then. _Darn, he really is a rich man, he even has a handsome chauffeur._  “What for?”

“For saving my life, of course.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“Go get changed, then, I’ll be waiting.” Grinning, Hongseok closes the door on Jinho.


	3. organised crime

Hongseok is fixing his cuff links on when Yanan strolls in, long past the formality of knocking. “You called?”

“Yeah, go get the car ready, An.”

“Where to?”

“My lifesaver’s.”

“Again? Didn’t you have a meeting this morning with the board of directors?”

Hongseok turns away, carelessly rifling through a stack of papers before sweeping them all into the bin beside his desk. “I asked Secretary Lee to rearrange that already, and to keep my mornings clear.”

Yanan gives him a look and strides out of the office, leaving the door to his office wide open.

 

Jinho has a scowl on his face that morning as he climbs into the limousine. “I thought I said we were past the stage of me accepting rides from you!”

“I thought I said I was offended by you rejecting my kindheartedness,” Hongseok says, mock hurt written all over his face as he watches the other male climb in. Jinho barely gives a grunt, feathers still ruffled because he hasn’t been able to make his favourite milk moustache in a week.

“You’re disrupting my morning routine.”

“I’m speeding it up.”

Jinho ignores him, opting instead to rummage through the mini refrigerator in Hongseok’s ride and pull out a can of ice cream soda—a drink that Hongseok kept sufficiently in stock ever since Jinho first opened the refrigerator and went nuts over it. “You’re all dressed up today.”

Hongseok looks up, arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

“That wasn’t a compliment, dumbass,” Jinho snaps. “And _don’t_ drop me off at the main entrance again, Yanan, it’s embarrassing.”

The chauffeur ignores him.

“By the way,” Hongseok says suddenly, and Jinho turns to look at him, startled by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “The court hearing is in a month. You’ll be testifying, yes?”

Jinho hasn’t opened his mailbox since the week before.

“Think you could do me a favour and say they looked like they looked like they were just passing by and wanted to have some fun so they had a go at me?”

Jinho blinks and raises his hand. “They looked like they were from organised crime to me. I swear that I will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so God help m-”

“Jinho!”

“Not unless you give me a darn good reason.”

Hongseok looks conflicted, but is saved from answering when the limousine pulls up at the main entrance of Jinho’s faculty.

“Thanks, Yanan,” Jinho says sarcastically, to which the chauffeur replies with a snarky “orders are orders, Jinho” (Jinho shoots Hongseok a dirty look while simultaneously admiring Yanan’s immaculate Korean and thinking he could be doing any number of high-paying jobs instead of being at the beck and call of Yang Hongseok. Yang Hongseok, creepy ass rich frat boy who ran a check on Jinho who can rattle off his full name, birthday, mother’s maiden name, pet’s names from his first hamster to his dead shiba).

The multimillionaire waves him off as the limousine drives away, and Jinho is left by the side of the curb wondering _why the heck_ Yang Hongseok would want to lie to the damn court of law.

 

* * *

  


Go Jihoon is fuming.

He’s had to sleep in multiple warehouses across the province in the last four days, roll into a ditch to avoid the line of sight of a police patrol, wash his clothes in the restroom of a public pool, _and_ coordinate a robbery attempt away from the comfort of the black leather-backed swivel chair in his office (it was successful, and they’d away with nine thousand—a good five thousand dollars in assets short of their target).

It is a sad, sad thing to be rolling in money and not be able to use any of it.

The sadder thing is that one of the jobs on his top priority list was botched.

“What do you mean you couldn’t get Hongseok to come quietly?” He roars, and there’s static on the line before a hurried reply comes through. “Well, he- they weren’t quiet enough, and- they- they got caught-”

“Forget it,” Jihoon says. “I’ll handle this myself. Did you prepare third base for me?”

“The car’s coming for you, sir.”

Jihoon hangs up, and speed dials number 2 on his phone. The name that flashes across his screen is _GO SHINWON_.

“Son,” he says, when the line beeps and he is directed to voicemail. “Visit me in two days, I have a job for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh, sorry for the short update. my creative juices are running bone dry but i saw the new influx of comments so i just had to get down and writing. i'll do my best to make it up to y'all. things will only get juicier from here ;)


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